


Baby Mine

by Dillian



Series: Springtime Exchange -- 2017 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Baby!Tony, Characters as Babies, Gen, Howard is an Unusually Good Daddy, I Guess You'll Have to Read if You Want to Find Out, Why?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: From a challenge by a dear friend and on-again/off-again co-writer:  Tony wakes up one day to find that a transformation has taken place.  He is now three years, living with his dad, who's strangely, way more hands-on and caring than he ever came across in real life, ever.  The challenge, of course, is to figure out just what the hell is going on, but it feels so good being to his so-distant father, that Tony has to really fight to keep himself focused.





	1. In Which a Billionaire Gets a Surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaimeryanRei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaimeryanRei/gifts).



_**The Avengers**_ , _**Iron Man**_ , _**Thor**_ **, and** _**Captain America**_ **, and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Comics.  This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.**

“Baby mine, don't you cry,  
Baby mine, dry your eyes.  
Rest your head close to my heart,  
Never to part, baby of mine.

Little one, when you play,  
Pay no heed what they say.  
Let your eyes sparkle and shine,  
Never a tear, baby of mine.”  
\-- “Baby Mine,” from _Dumbo_

You ever had one of those days when you wake up, and you’re a baby, and your Daddy’s there and he’s alive?  Let me try over again.

Okay, simple story:  I’m Iron-Man, maybe you’ve heard of me?  My job is fighting crime, I do it in a tin suit.   ~~I come home, and there’s a nice girl waiting for me, name of Pepper~~  I come home, with whoever I want to, and we do whatever the hell we want.  It’s great, who wouldn’t want all that freedom?  But I was talking about what happened with me and my dad.  Here’s what happened:

First of all, we’d been fighting Doom-bots that day.  (Me and the Avengers, you understand.)  At first I thought that was it, I’d been knocked out and this was all a dream.  Later on, I thought maybe I was dead (but that wasn’t it either).  And so, what was it then?  Read on, fair reader.

Okay, first of all, Doom-bots?  Usually a distraction-tactic.  Don’t hit where they are, you have to hit where Dr. Doom is instead.  That means psychology, which isn’t my strong point.  Usually I take care of the ‘bots, leave the psychology for the ones who are good at it, such as Wanda, Natasha, etcetera… -- By the way, Avengers?  So glad we’re back together again.  Like one of those bands that gets together to play concerts and make huge fortunes; we’re Pink Floyd after Roger Waters left, maybe they weren’t as good, but they still killed it in concert, amirite?

...Where was I?  Oh yeah, that’s right, I was telling you about what happened.  And here it is, see first of all I was fighting these Doom-bots, and I took a blow or two to the head, of course, standard, as per usual.  With the armor?  No big deal.  I don’t know why I would have thought that would be enough to do it,

I thought it was, because something had to have done it.  Because otherwise, the whole thing just didn’t make any damn sense.  And what was it that happened?  Simple.  Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy, I go to bed and I’m my regular self, and then I wake up the next morning, and I’m a baby.

Worst part of being a baby?  Diapers.  Definitely.  No real appreciation for the glories that are a big-boy toilet, until you have to do it the other way for a while.   _Again_.  The one part of being a kid nobody ever wants to relive, but yeah, there I was, and at that point, I was stuck.

So, here’s how it went down:  First, I wake up, okay?  Huge, big bed, that wasn’t really huge, it just looked like that, because I was so little.  My bed, from when I was three or so.  Captain America bed, with the Captain America sheets, and the pillowcases and stuff.  My teddy-bear, Mr. Punchy, cuddled up in my arms ~~where Pepper is supposed to be~~ , and my… -- Don’t judge! -- ...My footed Captain-America pj’s, with the drop-seat in back, that apparently I was too young to use, because uggh, oh god, oh, yuck.

You want to know why I’m telling this story?  Easy:  I’m just trying to make sense out of it all.  How do you make sense out of what doesn’t make any sense?  Answer:  You can’t.  But we try anyway, because that’s what we are, we’re sense-making animals.  And this one was so fuckin’ crazy…  Was I insane, maybe?  Like, clinical?  Psychotic?

Maybe.  I haven’t decided yet.  Let me just tell the story.

I wake up, in a puddle of I-don’t-want-to-describe-it-too-carefully.  And it’s not daytime yet, it’s dark outside.  And I cried, because that’s what babies do, and then someone came, because that’s what parents do, and it was my dad.

Because there’s nothing unresolved between me and Mom?  Actually not true, and even if it were...  If they’d really wanted to get my childhood right, it should have been Jarvis coming in, because it was always Jarvis, up until I was ten or so.   ~~Presentable age, I always thought, and Mom just didn’t want to deal with me before then.  But no, Mom was just doing what Dad wanted her to do.~~

...Anyway, where was I?  Okay, Dad comes in.  He looked like Dad too, very convincing.  Rumpled hair, and he hadn’t been to bed, white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, reading glasses up on his head, and a glass in his hands, just like he always had.

Dad comes in:  “What is it?  Tony?  Go back to sleep!”

I do the kid-thing some more, waah-waah-waah, and he picks me up…

_Long-remembered feeling, of being in his arms, and everything melts away, all the years when we would snipe at each other, or we weren’t even talking.  All the questions I’ve had since then:  Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Is he who I am?  Who I have to be?  Whiskey-smell of his breath, stirring my baby-hair, and the way his arms always felt so strong.  You know how it is for a kid, your Daddy is always the one who makes all the bogeymen go away, and it’s not until later that you grow up, and you learn…_

Never mind what you learn.  That’s not what this story is about.

Anyway though, Daddy picks me up.  “Hmmph, tiger,” he says, “you’re wet,” and he…

No feeling of surprise, when he changed me, even though Dad never changed me, and Mom didn’t either, I’m pretty sure.  A dream, maybe?  But such a ~~good~~ realistic dream.

“Oh, Tony,” Daddy says, “oh, you’re too much for this old man.”  And he takes me over to the changing table with the Captain America mobile over it, that I’d completely forgotten about, until then.  There I am, and I’m too big, of course, because it’s a baby’s mobile.  “It’s time you got potty-trained, isn’t it, tiger?” Daddy says, but he’s not angry or anything, he’s just saying it.  And all the time he’s talking, he’s doing the whole diapering-thing, first, off comes the wet one… -- Cloth; _very_ authentic early-70’s.  Also with a diaper-pail, that stank like fuck. -- ...On goes the baby-ointment, Dad’s hands going various places on my body, and we won’t get into that.  Then on goes the new diaper, soft, and dry-feeling.

Dad gives a yawn, says, “Well, since you’re up, I guess I’d better get you some breakfast.”

Dad!  Getting me breakfast!  Hell, Dad even knowing we had a kitchen, much less going anywhere near it?  And he’s doing it for me?

This was when I decided I was going to ride out this dream, or whatever it was, for as long as it lasted, because I wanted to see what would happen next.


	2. Said Aforementioned Billionaire?  Gets a Bath.

Okay, so here’s what I knew:  This wasn’t my real dad, because it couldn’t be.  Real dad:  You know I don’t actually remember that much about my childhood?  Like, there’s that video…  Film that Dad was making for some Stark Expo or another, he’s standing in front of the scale model, and then I come in and I fuck with it.  You watch that thing:  What do I look, like four or so?  Maybe five?   _I don’t remember a damn thing about when that happened._ Don’t remember much before my prep-school years, and I was how old by then?  Ten or twelve?

That’s off-topic.  Also it’s not completely true.  What I’ve got is these vague memories, like little flashes, and sometimes I can use the context to reconstruct about how old I was, when something happened.  For instance, pots and pans:  Sometime, how old was I?  Two, or maybe even younger.  Cupboard, down near the floor, pots and pans were in it, and they were my favorite toys.  Feet moving around me while I played, Jarvis’ feet.  And his voice, “Not the colander, Master Tony, I need it…”  I’m lying, I don’t really remember that part.  But it sounds like something he would say, doesn’t it?  

You know who wouldn’t have been in the kitchen while I was playing with the pots and pans?  Dad.  (Or Mom either, for that matter, she was always off doing her society shit.  But we’re not talking about her.)  Where would Dad have been?  Working.  That’s where he always was.  But not in this dream-thing I had, oh no, in that thing, he was right there with me, the whole time, and he was taking good care of me ~~, just like he loved me~~.

Here’s a question that went through my mind:  Was this some kind of a making-amends thing?  Shades of Ebeneezer Scrooge, George Whatsisbutt from _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , or that angel-guy, Clarence?  Maybe I was just the tool in this scenario, which was some kind of a scheme to help Howard Stark make up for his sins on Earth, so he could go to Heaven, that thought literally occurred to me.

Here’s how horrible I am, as soon as that idea came to me, I instantly decided I was going to make it as hard as possible for him, I’m just that kind of a bad person.  And here’s what that looked like:  Feeding time, okay?

So, I was like three, right?  AKA, not a baby?  Meant no baby food.  I was eating real people-food, like spaghetti.  You can do a lot of damage with a bowl of spaghetti, if you want to.  We’re talking noodles on the walls, sauce all over every inch of you, including the ones under your clothing.  We’re talking, hands all slippery, face all gooey…  Shall I go on?  I also brought the milk into the action:  Sippy-cup lids aren’t easy for little baby-fingers to handle, especially if they’re all ooze-y with spaghetti sauce, but I managed.

Flood of milk, ready to go…  Hmm, where?  Onto the floor?  Even better, all over my lap, into the high-chair, and then from there, onto the floor as well, whee, fun, fun, Baby loves making a mess…

This is literally true, by the way, actually.  I did that, and I’ll admit, it was fun as hell.

...But like I was saying, I make this huge mess, mostly because I was thinking that about fucking with Dad’s try at getting into Heaven.  What kind of a horrible person doesn’t want someone to go to Heaven?  You’re looking at him:  Anthony E. Stark, at your service.  Or rather, I didn’t mind if he went, I just wanted to make it really hard on him first, and so I did all that with the food, until the entire room looked like a bomb had just gone off.  Then I waited for Daddy to hit the roof.

Honest admission:  It would have been easier for me if he had.  

What he did instead?  “Naughty Tony!”  Big hands, opening the high-chair, and lifting me out.  Big hands, that felt safe, not like Dad’s hands ever really felt like, any time in my entire life.  I don’t remember anybody’s hands ever feeling safe like that, not even Jarvis’s, it was like the ultimate distillation of parenting into just those two big hands.   _It felt so good_!

Daddy holding me a little away from him, like he didn’t want to get dirty too…  And I decided to make it really hard on him, so I started waahing again, and I didn’t let up until he pulled me in close.  Daddy’s big shoulder, under my little-kid face…  He was wearing one of those white shirts again, and I felt this mean pleasure, at the thought of what my spaghetti-stained little body was going to do to it.  And then he takes me into the bathroom, plops me down into the tub.  I look up, and the carnage is even worse than I was hoping, red smears everywhere, couple of noodles, hanging out of Dad’s collar, and I give a big baby-laugh.

“Now you’re happy again, aren’t you, champ?”  Approving tone in Dad’s voice, that I never heard in real life ever ~~(but it felt~~ ~~ _good_~~ ~~)~~.  And, “Here,” he says, “let’s get you cleaned off,” and he starts pulling all my clothes off, then he picks me up again, spaghetti stains, and naked baby butt-cheeks, and all.  And then he turns on the water, tests it really carefully to see if the temperature is right, and he adds a big squirt of bubble bath into it, and plops me on down.

Adults should probably take bubble-baths sometimes.  It’s really fun (or maybe that’s just the baby in me, talking).  Dad put in a shit-ton of bubble bath, the bubbles reached past my head, practically to the ceiling, it looked like.  Plus about being a baby by the way?  You can _splash_.  I splashed the shit out of that water, it went everywhere, and it was fun as hell.

Did Dad care?  He didn’t look like it.  He just kept laughing, and mopping up the spills I made with all these dry towels, and occasionally bringing me toys, like boats and duckies and things.  (Also adults should probably own rubber duckies as well, which are more fun than you might think.)

...So where was I?  That’s right:  Bath.  Big hands, sudsing shampoo through your baby-hair.  Feels nice.  Daddy, taking time to get the water just right…  Did Dad ever take the time to make anything just right for me before?   _Ever_?  But I digress.  ...Daddy getting water, just the perfect temperature, then shielding my baby-eyes, if you will, while he rinsed my hair, so the soap wouldn’t get in and make me cry.  Dad, making sure I’m clean, all over, then that little swat on the butt he gave me when he took me out.  “Try to stay clean for a while, will you, sport?” he says.

Then we went back into the kitchen.  I was feeling a lot nicer toward him by then, and so I only whined a little, when I saw the Chips Ahoy on the counter.

“Uh-uh, tiger,” Dad says.  “No cookies for you, until you eat your dinner.”

Remember when I threw the spaghetti all over the place?  Dad found me some bread and peanut butter as a replacement, and then when I whined hard enough, he gave me a big load of grape jelly on top of that.  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?   _Grown-ups should eat more of them!_

You may have noticed, by the way:  Nothing yet about how I solved the mystery.  I did solve it, but that was later.  I’m just telling this story in order, the way it happened.


	3. Interlude:  One of Tony's Real Baby-Memories

What is it about a guy and his dad?  I don’t know.  Guys always have good relationships with their moms, but never with their dads, and it’s not just guys like me that were raised by the help, it’s all of them.  You get a guy to talk honestly about him and his dad, and things will always come up, but at the same time…

At the same time, if you can get him to say a good word about you…  Or even just a warm moment, even a tiny one…   _Huge_ good feelings.  Like, the biggest ones, like, Jarvis and me?  Or take Mom, who was gone an awful lot, but when she was there, we got along, you know?  I look back, and I can think of all these times:  Just out of the blue, “I love you, Tony,” she’d say, and I’d be like, “I love you too, Mom,” just like that, and it was really good, every single time.  But, what else it was?  Easy.  It was always really easy, me saying something good to Mom, or her saying something to me.  But with Dad, it was never easy.

I do have a few good memories of him.  Real-Dad, I mean, not the Dad from the… whatever it was.  But, real Dad, not the dad from my holographic simulator, or the one from the thing, like a parallel universe or whatever.  Want to hear about them?

First of all, the times when I brought him something I made?  You know I don’t really remember those times?  Weird, because he’d always make a big fuss about whatever I brought him…  Mostly.  He mostly made a fuss.  Here’s what’s weird, is this is the one time I do remember:  How old was I, twelve maybe?  Or fourteen.  Little blueprint-thing I’d just drawn, generator that was going to be powered by static electricity, and I was all excited and shit, and I bring that thing into Dad’s office, and he goes off at me.  “Blah-blah, Tesla,” and, “Impossible, Tony, it’s been disproved a hundred times,” etcetera.  Nice little lecture, that turned into a rant, and it was the last time that I ever showed him anything.  But there were some other times.  Let me tell you about one of those.

He was reading a newspaper.  I was… I don’t remember how old.  I was tiny, like, a little big for sitting on laps, but still little, like, I was six or so.  I remember coming in, I had Mr. Punchy in my arms.  I remember Dad had been telling me, “You’re too old for stuffed animals, Tony,” and I remember being a little worried because I had Mr. Punchy with me, but Dad didn’t say anything.  I remember there was a glass on the table by his chair, and Dad could get funny when he’d had too much, and I was thinking about that too.

Why did I even go to him?  Because I’d had a nightmare.  But, why didn’t I go to Jarvis instead?  I don’t know.

I didn’t go to Jarvis, I went to Dad.  And I had been crying, because of whatever it was that had been in that nightmare, I don’t remember that part, and I’d tried to stop crying, because, you know, big boys don’t cry?  Tried to stop, couldn’t stop all the way…  I must have been a mess, like, puffy wet eyes, nose all red, and probably running into the bargain.  You know how little kids are, even the best ones are all snotty and sloppy all the time, and the last thing I was, was one of the best ones.  And I go in to Dad, all snotty and teary like that, and with my little-kid stuffed toy bear under my arm, but I was scared from the nightmare, and I wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Went in to him, and he picks me up.  “You lonely too, Tony?” he says.  Or maybe it was, “You scared too”?  I don’t really remember.  Important point though:  He picks me up.  And he cuddles me, gives me a sip from his glass (that tasted like shit, I was a lot older before I learned to appreciate good Scotch).  It tasted like shit, but it also tasted like Dad, and he gives me that stuff, says, “There, that’ll help you get back to sleep.” Then he puts me down, pats my head, etcetera.  “Love to talk to you all night,” he says, even though we both knew he wouldn’t, "but I’ve got things to do,” he tells me, “I’m really busy right now, Tony.”

Poor Dad, he was always so busy.  I don’t know what our relationship would have been like if he hadn’t been, probably a lot better.

Look, I don’t know why I let myself get off-track like this.  I’m telling a story, I need to just stick to it.  And, where was I?  Oh yeah, that’s right, I’d just told about the bath.  It wasn’t very long after that, that I found out just what the fuck was going on, like a day or so.  I should probably tell about that part next; it was a nightmare too, and…

I’m not going to tell that part yet.  I’m going to tell about the next day first, and you want to know why?   _Because I liked it_.  Still do, it’s like I can’t help it, even knowing what I know now.


	4. Two Stark Men at the Zoo

Okay, so what happened the next day?  Zoo.  You ever been to the zoo with your dad?  Well, I hadn’t.   _Of course_.  Try picturing Howard Stark ever taking me anywhere that wasn’t a Stark Company business.  I’ll wait.  Have you done it?  Yes?  Congratulations, you have a great future ahead of you, writing fantasy.

But in this alternate whatever-it-was, where my dad had all the time in the world for me, _he took me to the zoo_.  I was little, remember?  Like, two or three?  Little kids ride in strollers.  Here’s what that looked like:

Big, massive stroller.  Like, a Humvee-style stroller.  Stroller with one of those boards attached, that little kids are supposed to play with, that make noises etcetera, and there was a whole sackful of toys attached in back, I found that out later.  So, like a fun-vee stroller, understand?  I hated it.  I wanted to be in Daddy’s arms.  And Alternate-Universe Daddy had no problems.  We went around that whole day, him pushing that big stroller with one hand, and at the same time doing his best to hold onto me, up on his shoulders, with the other one.  

And as for the zoo:  You ever been to the Central Park Zoo?   _You owe it to yourself!_  

You know, I don’t know if I’d ever gone there before or not.  Maybe I did, maybe Jarvis took me, sometime long ago when I was really little.  Maybe not, too.  I was a Stark, remember?  Howard Stark’s son and heir?  Stark men spend their time working on engineering projects, not going around looking at a whole lot of useless animals.

Obie’s words, echoing (this is from my real childhood, you understand, not from the alternate one):  “Look at him go, Howard, the kid’s a goddamn genius.”

And then Dad said…  I don’t remember what he said.  That part always cuts out on me.  What he probably said?  “Chip off the old block,” maybe, “Yes, he takes after his old man,” or something like that.

I don’t know where I got the idea that Dad wanted me to be an engineer instead of anything else.  Maybe because he did?  I don’t know.  Dad was one thing, he was an engineer.  Everything else?  Just relaxations.  Wine, women, my mom, me:  We were all just toys for him, just the things he’d use to unwind, and then he’d be back at work.

You know the old song?  “Cat’s in the cradle, blah-blah-blah, etcetera etcetera,” you know, that one?  Song’s totally true, I did do it, I grew up just like him.  That’s another thing about men and their dads, no matter how much you hate them for this or that, you can guarantee you are going to grow up to be just like him about it.   ~~That’s how I was, up until Pepper came into my life~~  That’s how I am, I’m just an engineer, like Dad.  Nothing else for me, no life, no meaning…

You know for a while I was thinking maybe that was the point of the whole alternate-scenario childhood thing?  That it was a way for me to finally lay some of my demons, like, some kind of a subconscious healing thing or something?  Found out the truth later on, of course, but yeah, I toyed with that idea for awhile.

It’s what was going through my head that day at the zoo.  I was nicer to my dad that day, and that was why.  I was like, “Hold me, Daddy, I love you, Daddy,” etcetera etcetera.  Inside, the whole time, I’m thinking, “This is _my chance_ , I’m going to rewrite my _whole life_.”  I’ve always been such an optimist.

Yeah, but the zoo?  Awesome.  Definitely worth a visit.  Maybe I’ll have to take a trip there sometime in real life, you know, just to find out if the real-life one lives to Alternate-Zoo?  It probably won’t, because Alternate-Zoo was great.  But on the other hand, it would take me a step away from being All-Business Tony, which is probably a good thing.

Who else was there, by the way?  Obie.  And he was being just like he was in real life, just business-business-business, and then wanting to take Dad out with him for partying, etcetera.  Only unlike in real life, Alternate-Dad just blew him off, he was like, “Sorry, I’m busy, _I’m spending the day with my son_ ,” and then Obie…

Let’s stick to the zoo for now.  Big cats?  Very cool.  Also wolves, and foxes, and those laughing things, like in _Lion King_ …  Hyenas?  Also zebras, mostly for the camo-patterning, and giraffes (same reason).  What aren’t cool?  Elks.  Also deer, and antelopes, and some very boring cow-things, that I forget their name, and some other things that were just like donkeys, only with the interesting taken out, if that makes any sense.  

Ruminants.  Ruminants are boring.  Very boring, like, you look at them, you find yourself thinking, “Okay, you know what?  I don’t care if a lion eats you or not,” and there were whole sections of the zoo that were nothing but ruminants, and they would go on, and on, and on.  “Kudu…”  Daddy was reading the signs out loud to me.  I don’t remember if it was kudu, or kudzu, but it was one of those.  “Kudu,” he said, “look, Tony, there’s one over there.”  I’d look, it would be way over there, like, grazing or some such shit.  Then we’d go on to the next cage, it would be more ruminants, and Dad would be like, “See, Tony, _how interesting_.”  

Inside me, and I’d be like, “You’ve seen one ruminant, you’ve seen them all.”  Here’s another thing about the whole experience:  It was just like a Garfield comic.  Like, it was on two levels, almost like there were two of me.  One of me was always thinking, and the other one was just reacting.  Thinking-Me would be, “Ho-hum, boring, ruminants,” or whatever, but Reacting-Me would be like, “Daddy, zebras, Daddy, balloons, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

Reacting-Me had a very good time.  And we went to the gift store afterward, and we bought all this shit, all these balloons, and a big stuffed tiger, and a picture book about the zoo.  Sitting on Daddy’s lap afterward…  We were back at home, you understand.  I’d had my dinner, and I was in my pj’s; I was cuddled up in Daddy’s lap, just like a normal kid.  And my new Big Tiger was sitting with us.  Daddy was reading me that zoo book, and every now and then he’d stop, he’d say, “Look, Tony,” or sometimes it would be, “Look, Big Tiger,” and then I’d always laugh.

Little kids laugh so easily.  Happy kids laugh easily.  In Alternate-World. I was happy.   ~~(Which should have been all the tip-off I needed, that none of it was real.)~~

I’m done.  More later.  You know, there’s not much more, and I should just get this the hell over with, and tell the whole thing now.  But I’m not going to do it, and you want to know why?  Eh, you already know why, and so do I.  It’s because I liked Alternate-World, and I want to make it last as long as possible.


	5. In Which a Villain Shows Himself

All right, I get it.  Being an adult?  It’s great.  Wonderful, fantastic; don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the shit out of being an adult.  And I’ve got my car, my booze, ~~my girlfriend~~ my freedom.  I can go wherever I want to go, whenever I want to go there, and I can do whatever I want, and say whatever I want, it’s wonderful, it’s fucking fantastic.  But at the same time…

Look, who wouldn’t want someone strong and good, always taking care of things?  And protecting you?  Story I read one time:  Charles Schulz.  You know, the guy that wrote the _Peanuts_ comics?  Story I read, one time someone asked him what security was, this is what he said to them…  I don’t remember the exact wording.  This is basically what he said, something to the effect of, “Security is when you’re really little, and you’re driving home from somewhere, and you fall asleep in the back seat of your parents’ car.”  That was the gist of it, and then some more about how you grow up, and that feeling goes away, and you’re never going to feel safe like that, ever in your whole life again.  

It’s not a bad thing that it goes away.  Look, feeling is that you’re being protected, right?  But we all know, not all parents can protect you.  Hell, not all parents want to protect you.  To the end of my life…  Little honesty from the billionaire here:  If I just knew…  Feeling of always wondering:  Did Dad want to protect me, and he couldn’t, or did he just not even care?  I think it was the first one, but how can you be sure?   ~~Loki ever does that thing to me again, next time I’m going to…~~  But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Let’s go back to where I was:  (And by the way, for what it’s worth, I think Dad did want to protect me, but he just…  Well, he didn’t have the world’s best childhood himself either, did he?  It’s not like he knew how to be a father.)  Where was I?  Yeah, that’s right, the thing about protection:  Who wouldn’t want a parent around, who could protect you?  Or at least, who wouldn’t want to be able to get back to that time when you were little, and you thought your parents could?  Illusion, yeah, I know, but sometimes that’s enough.

Sometimes just an illusion is so sweet, that you want to wrap it around you like a blanket, and just enjoy that warm, safe feeling.  Sometimes, even though I know now that it wasn’t real, and that it was…  I’d better keep this thing in order, or I’m never going to finish it.

Where was I?  Falling asleep in Daddy’s lap, that day after we’d been to the zoo.  Me, and Big Tiger, and I guess Daddy must have picked us up and carried us to bed, because the next thing I remember, is waking up there.

I woke up screaming.  Nightmare.  I don’t remember what it was.

This is a lie, I remember, all right, but why would I want to tell about it?  Nightmare came out of my adult life, let’s just put it that way.  It was like the first crack, in the little magical world I was living in.  Then after that some more happened, and more, and more, until it was gone ~~and I couldn’t get it back~~.

But that was the first crack:  Nightmare, that came right straight out of my adult life, and I wake up, and I’m just screaming.  And footsteps in the hallway:  Daddy’s footsteps.  And…  Here’s where the second crack happened.

Second crack:  A dad walks in.  Not my dad, Loki’s dad walked in.  I guess it was Loki’s dad, he looked just like the descriptions Thor’s given us.  Ratty white hair and beard, like a homeless person, one eye gone, and he’s wearing an eyepatch.  Breath that smelled grape-y, like wine, and there was another smell.  Cold smell to him, like a winter-wind smell, and he picks me up, and I’m smelling this smell, in his hair, and his beard, clothes, even.  And this is what he says:  “Shh, shh, quiet, Loki.”

I say it?  It takes so long to describe.  That’s not how it happened, though, how it happened, it was only for a second.  Maybe not even that, maybe it was like a millisecond, one moment I’m being picked up by this weird guy with the homeless-hair, and he says, “Loki,” and then there’s kind of a blur.  Teeny little moment, when the room isn’t my room, but some chamber out of a golden palace, and then it’s my room again, and that’s my dad, looking down at me.  And he says, “Quiet, Tony,” but by then it’s too late.

“Show yourself,” I tell Loki.

There’s a shimmer, and Dad’s gone, Loki’s standing there in his place.  “Mortals are such fun,” he says, and he laughs.

You’re going to be wondering now, why did he do it?  Scheme, of course, Loki was working with Doom.  You remember the Doom-bots from before?  Apparently they didn’t keep me busy long enough, and they needed some more time for whatever they were planning...  I don’t know.

You know I actually have no idea why he did it?  For funsies maybe?  Just for shits and giggles?  Maybe it was for revenge.  Maybe he wanted to hurt me, and he thought, “I’ll give him something really good, _and then I’ll take it away_.”  Maybe he was thinking about himself, what would he like best…  Something that keeps coming back to me?  Something Thor said?

“Loki’s adopted,” he said that to us one time, I don’t remember when.  “He’s adopted,” he said, “and it bothers him, I don’t know why.”

I know why:  Feeling of not belonging, it’s the worst feeling in the world.  Feeling of always being judged, and nobody really wants you, they just keep you around.  You can try your whole life to get rid of a feeling like that, but it never goes away.

...Hell, I’m not making any sense, am I?  Loki’s a villain, he’s working with Doom, and they needed me out of the way.  Any day now, we’re going to find out what they were up to, and we’d better be prepared.  But at the same time…

Look, all I’m going to say:  If Loki does feel that way?  Look, if he does, which he probably doesn’t, but _if_ he does?  I feel for him, that’s all, I guess that’s what I wanted to say.  Because it’s the worst feeling in the world, being cut off like that, and never getting the love that all of us want…  I’m not making sense again, am I?  Time to stop.  Story’s over, good-bye.


End file.
